Why they would ask me to come in here and tell them about my designs when they had no experience or even interest in how things worked? This was beyond me but here we were. I had just finished telling them about the adaptations on various drone models that would optimize them for the sometimes unpredictable conditions on airport runways and they had just sat there like they were waiting for me to get to the good part. Like I was going to pull a drone out right there and fly it around the room for them like a bunch of six-year-olds.
“So, look,” I said. “The details don’t actually matter.”
“Don’t they?” the man asked. His little entourage sat at attention. My business partner, Toby sat at attention too.
“No. Not to you. You’re interested in quality, right? Well, our drones are the best. That’s all you need to know.” The man laughed and it rippled through his little group. I failed to see what was so funny. Toby cleared his throat.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You and every other drone producer is going to tell us that your products are the best but the fact of the matter is, it's not the best product that gets bought out, it’s the one with the best advertising. So, sell it to us. Make us want them. What about your design makes them the best?”
Did I look like a salesman to him? They wanted to talk to the designer, not the fucking ad man. This was above my pay grade and I didn’t like the way this guy thought he could make us jump just because he had a contract and we wanted his signature on it. I could feel myself getting mad. This was starting to feel like a waste of my time and I didn’t take kindly to people who were stubborn for the sake of it. If he wasn’t going to give us the contract anyway, what was the point of us coming?
“Look,” I said, sighing, done with their shit. They wanted something from us. If they needed to fall in line and give us what we wanted. “You don’t need to know any more about the design than we’ve told you.”
“That’s exactly what we’re interested in,” he said. “The design, math, whatever you do to make those things.”
Whatever I did to make those things.
That was a nice way to reduce my life’s work into a single meaningless statement.
“Here it is; you don’t need to know any more math than what it’s going to take to cut us the check.”
“What my partner is trying to say,” Toby said, getting up, “is that getting caught up in the details is counter-productive. When we present our products, we don’t present our formulas and prototypes, we present solutions.” He shot me a dirty look. The guy crossed his arms.
“Regale me then. What are your solutions?”
“I’ll take it from here,” Toby whispered to me. I hesitated because fuck that guy and his cronies, but I stood down. Sitting, I watched Toby carry the rest of the presentation. See, he was the only one they really needed for this. Why the hell did they ask for the designer to show up and explain it all to them like they were five? They wouldn’t remember a thing that I told them, just whatever trashbag criteria they used to choose who would be getting money from them. I wanted to, but I didn’t interrupt or walk out.
It was over quickly.
We walked out of the meeting room towards the elevator. Toby yanked on his collar and cursed.
“You okay?” I asked.
“What the hell do you think?” he snapped.
“Whoa, why are you mad at me?” I asked. We entered the elevator which was thankfully empty.
“You’re not coming to the next meeting. In fact, I’m relieving you of the duty completely.”
“Fine with me.”
“I swear to god, man,” he said, leaning back against the mirror in the elevator. “You can't do shit like that. You can’t talk to clients like they're your goddamn cadets. We want something from them. You have to make them want to give you their money.”
“No, they want something from us,” I said.
“They’re the ones with the money, Easy. You like money? You want to make money? If you didn’t you’d be giving your fucking drones out for free.”
“We have money, Toby.”
“That’s not the point. We have competition and if they get ahead of us, they get our money. If we aren’t making money, we aren’t profitable and if a business isn’t profitable, it goes bust. People care about the person behind the product. They want to meet the designer but you're about as presentable as a pile of compost.”
“Just wait. They're gonna be calling tomorrow with a contract. I’m telling you.”
“Not with the shit you pulled. Couldn’t you even wear a fucking suit for this?” he said, sneering at my outfit.
“I wore a uniform for years. I didn’t get discharged from the army just to get back into one.”
“Anything, literally anything would have been better than those fucking jeans and that flannel,” he said. “And would it kill you to shave?”
“Any more fashion tips for me?” I asked.
“I have to be seen with you, Easy. If you’re not going to do it for yourself, do it for me. Hell, do it for our company. How the hell is someone supposed to know you’re any kind of professional when you look like that?”
“Thanks, mom,” I snarked. Toby shot me a dirty look. I was in jeans and a flannel. It was comfortable and the look suited me. Toby was in a grey suit that he frankly looked uncomfortable in. I didn’t know why he was taking it out on me when he had made that fashion choice all on his own.
“You’re impossible,” he said. The doors opened and we walked out.
“I didn’t know you were ashamed to be seen with me, Toby. Now my feelings are hurt.”
“Good. You deserve it,” he said. He was irritated, it was radiating off of him in waves.
“I think it could have been worse. I don’t know why you’re so upset about it.”
“And that right there is your problem,” he said. I hailed us a cab. Maybe he wasn’t wrong. I mean, he was wrong, but maybe he wasn’t that wrong. We had a lot in common, but we were different at the same time. Same age, birthdays just a month and a half apart. Same general height and build. Joined the army and discharged the same year while serving in the same unit. He however had acclimatized to civilian life better and faster than I had. He had walked out of the armed forces and into a boardroom without missing a beat. Meanwhile, I was still trying to enjoy the fact that I didn’t have to wear a uniform everyday.
Our differences must have played some role in making the two of us work together. A business didn’t gain a billion-dollar valuation out of nowhere. Opposites attracted, right? We got into the cab.
“Take us to The Fissure please,” Toby said to the cabbie.
“Where’s that?” I asked.
“The Fissure. It’s a bar.”
“Bar?” I scoffed. Things were worse than I thought. Whatever, it didn’t matter. I could take a drink. I tipped my head back on the seat and closed my eyes. “Resorting to alcoholism so early in our career?”
“If I ever do, it’ll be because you led me to it.”
“Hold off a couple of years. Wait until we go public or something.”
I could feel Toby’s glare on me.
“We’re business partners, and I need you. That’s the only reason why I won’t push you out of this car right now.”
Violence too? He was really mad. I opened one eye and looked at him. “I’m upset that our relationship has come to this. We should try couples counseling.”
“Why when buying you out and pretending our partnership was never a thing in the first place would be cheaper and more effective?” he spat.
I chuckled. He didn’t mean it. If he did, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. He knew who I was, and I knew who he was. We had come together and made a billion-dollar business. The ass-kissing and schmoozing wasn’t a part of the job that I signed up for. As long as we had a product that these clients wanted, they weren’t going anywhere. Where would they go when our competitors didn’t come close?
“
Love you too, honey,” I said.
“I swear to god, Easy, this is serious.”
Was he still on this? I opened one eye again.
“Like a heart attack. I know.”
“No, you don’t. If you did, then you wouldn’t act like an ass in front of our clients.”
“We’re getting the contract. Relax. They came looking for us, remember?”
“I don’t even know why I bring you anywhere.”
“Then don’t.”
“You think I would if I could get away with not doing it? We need to figure out a way to fix you or else.”
“Or what?” I asked, opening both my eyes. Toby was messing around on his phone. “What are you looking at? Who are you talking to?”
“The person who’s going to get you to get your act together.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“She’ll pull you together. Make you presentable. The next best thing we’re going to get to finishing school.”
“Finishing school? What are you talking about? You sound like you want to give me a makeover or something.”
“That’s just what you need. That and a full personality transplant.”
“What is this? Queer Eye? You’re not giving me a makeover,” I scoffed.
“I’m not. You’re gonna need a professional,” he said.
Shit, he was serious. “I’ll wear a different shirt next time. It’s not that serious.”
“This is business, Easy. This is our retirement, our legacy, this is make or break.”
I shook my head. He was high strung to say the least. Neurotic to say the most. My fucking shirt choice wasn’t going to be what got us our contracts or not. Our work, our product, our reputation was what was going to do it. He’d calm down. He always did. He was going to complain a little more, have a drink and then he’d be back to normal.
We pulled up to the place and went inside, sitting up at the bar. Toby got a scotch and I got a beer. I whistled.
“Scotch? A little strong, no?”
“Another year with you and I’ll need a doctor to shoot me up with morphine after client meetings.” He got back on his phone.
“You’re such a drama queen,” I said, picking up the beer that was placed in front of me.
“It’s you or me and I’m nominating you,” he said. “Here.” He held his phone out to me. I took it. It was a news story on some website. Artemis James: The Stylist Behind the Best Dressed. I frowned.
“What the hell is this?”
“That’s her. She’s going to save me from embarrassment by cleaning up your act.” I wrinkled my nose scrolling down the article. Picture after picture of people I didn’t know but were allegedly famous. A stylist, huh? Guess you could pay someone to do anything for you.
“You’re crazy,” I said, handing the phone back, and then stopping, looking at the screen. I clicked on the picture of the woman with brown hair and arresting grey eyes, enlarging it. She was smiling with red lips, wearing a modern, stylish suit. Her body had curves in all the right places. She was beyond sexy. A fucking smokeshow. Fuck, please let her be the one. Please let her be the one.
“Is that the woman you’re talking about?” I asked, handing the phone back.
“She’s called something something James… yeah, yes. That’s her.”
“Okay, I changed my mind. I’m down.”
“That was a quick change of heart.”
“She can dress me,” I said, as long as she undresses me first.
“I was never asking permission but it’s nice to see you cooperate for once in your life.”
I took a swig of my beer. “You’re still crazy but what could it hurt?”
It wasn’t going to hurt. Not with her. Not with the kind of dress up games I had in mind.
2
Artemis
No, they were not a couple, they couldn't be.
I nursed a cup of tea in my hands while looking out the window, down at the street. It was late in the morning and Central Park, was full. There were joggers, people walking with babies in strollers, families, and picnickers. The weather, for now, allowed it. My attention was on a couple on the pavement about to enter the park. I called them a couple, but I really didn’t want them to be.
From my distance, looking out the window of Brenna's townhouse, I was close enough to notice that the man was significantly older than the woman. She was dressed up like one of those trendy young women who worked at a magazine. A Conde Nast or Hearst princess whose father was financing her life while she worked for peanuts at the magazine, being berated by her fashionable yet cruel superiors.
He was dressed well too, but… well… the best accessory was always a handsome face. He wasn't bad looking, maybe if I got closer I would find that he was perfectly decent-looking, but he was noticeably older than her and those kinds of relationships just made me a bit ill. The cynic in me wanted them to be father and daughter, but then, he put an arm around her and kissed her, before they walked into the park.
Well, mystery solved. They were together. I took a sip of my tea. Congratulations to them. I had no real reason to oppose their union. I tried to imagine their love story, but to me it seemed too gross. Either that or I was too jaded.
That was the reason I was in New York instead of London. My hometown had chewed me up and spat me out, so I had walked away with what was left of my dignity. I booked a ticket with no return and here I was. Of all the times that I had been to New York, I never really imagined this place as home. I always imagined New York and London being too different for me to get used to but here I was, a few months deep and London was not calling.
When I said that London had chewed me up and spat me out, what I meant was whatever toad of a man that I had dated last had chewed me up and spat me out and I was still reeling from the fallout. The official story however was that I was here for the abundant work opportunities in my field. Yes, my field. Parties, yachts, galas, you know, my field. Andrew was the man that I had dated and he had one day, completely out of the blue, sprung it on me that he was no longer invested in the relationship and had found someone new. Moving all the way across the Atlantic was a perfectly natural reaction to that, hardly an overreaction.
My grace had lasted exactly thirty hours after his confession. I scoured the internet to find out who that someone new was and immediately regretted my decision. It wasn’t just one voluptuous blonde with impossibly long legs; it was two. The man had left me for a pair of incestuous twins. What could I have done besides move to America surely? Where did I even start to compete? How was I supposed to make sense of that? The only way I could have one-upped him was if I started a harem of men that I kept naked and oiled in the courtyard out my house and had frequent public orgies with them. Checkmate. He won that round.
My relationship history read something like the biblical book of Revelation. My lineup of exes was a motley crew of lying, cheating misfits. There was Rodney, I couldn’t remember which number he was in the lineup, but he had ended up being gay. To this day, that bothered me a little. He was obviously gay from the beginning since homosexuality didn’t suddenly appear in individuals like bouts of the flu. Why had he pursued me if he liked men all along?
I felt sorry for whatever reason made him feel like he had to lie about his orientation, but then, it was my time that he wasted. If he told me at the beginning, I might have been amenable to being his beard for public events if he really wanted me to. After he told me, I did my research to make sure that wasn't just a convenient excuse to get away from me, and turns out, it wasn't. Last I checked, he was screwing a man who worked in gay porn. The two of us had been together for a year. An entire year. I never brought him up when people asked me about my exes.
That relationship hadn’t even been the worst. Another one in the lineup, Michael, joined a monastery right after we started having relationship problems. A fucking monastery. His relationship with me was bad enough for him to swear off of women completely for the rest of his
life. He didn't cheat and he wasn't secretly attracted to men the whole time, but it was a little traumatic to think that I could have been the cause of him relinquishing civilian life to become a man of the cloth. At least that was a somewhat noble pursuit. If a man was going to leave me for some reason, any reason, at least it was to dedicate his life to Christ.
There was a Spanish guy after that. The Spanish part was actually a lie, he called himself Carlos but he was actually named Charles and was as English as I was. He ended up lying to me about being chronically ill with lupus and probably much more given that he couldn’t even give me his real name. When we were together, he would keep making these excuses to fly back to Barcelona.
I thought he was cheating on me so of course, I confronted him only for him to tell me that he was receiving treatment for his lupus. Of course, I felt like a horrible monster and one day, while he was in Spain, I decided to fly out and comfort him. A little surprise to show how sorry I was and how much I loved him. Long story short, treatment wasn’t the only thing he was going to Barcelona to receive. When I showed up at his apartment, I found him in bed with another woman’s lips wrapped around his cock. So, he was cheating but the jury was still out on whether he actually had lupus.
Was he worse or better than the magician though? What was I thinking? Magicians were endlessly cringey, on top of that the relationship had crashed and burned anyway, so the comparison was moot. That one had pulled a magic trick on me, disappearing. He wiped himself off the face of the Earth completely; changed his email, his social media, everything. I had no idea where he was to this day. It was really a blow to the self-esteem when people who were objectively worse looking than you ghosted you.
Admit You Want Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Irresistible Billionaires Book 3) Page 2
